


A Set of Lies You Agree on Together

by Sara Generis (kanadka)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanadka/pseuds/Sara%20Generis
Summary: Historical prompts written for 2017's apheeweek on tumblr hosted byfuckyeahaphestonia. See chapters for more. Note that chapter 4 contains Estonia/Poland, and chapter 5 contains Estonia/Russia, but the rest are gen.





	1. shiver in anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 1: historical prompt, "Era of Silence". The last time that Estonia speaks to Prussia, before war breaks out. Pre-WWII.

_February 1934_

The last time that Estonia speaks to Prussia before war breaks out, he’s sent in Germany’s stead for the usual trade shipment, delivering metals, machinery, and equipment, and picking up butter, eggs, flax and timber. Two men accompany him dressed in brown with red armbands. Prussia himself wears red black and white these days and a grim smile.

“Are you alright?” asks Estonia.

“Hah! What do you think?” says Prussia. He leaps off the crate and flexes his muscles, an annoying display of virility. “Of course I’m alright! Just look at me! Why, I’m better than ever! I have an awesome new boss and -”

The door shuts behind them, leaving them at last alone.

“And he’s taken over my government and my little brother has no idea what the hell he’s doing and is letting his boss yank him around by the nose and I’m terrified,” whispers Prussia.

“You and all of Europe,” says Estonia. “About that. I wanted to ask you … what do you think about the Vaps Movement?”

“Bring me up to speed? I’ve been a bit busy getting Preußenschlagged,” mutters Prussia. “And be quick about it, I don’t know when  _they’ll_  return.”

So Estonia tells him. The Vaps Movement is a league of people who fought in the Great War and the War Estonia fought immediately thereafter to … ‘convince’ both Russia and Germany that he really should be independent, because they needed convincing about it. (Prussia is actually one of those people. Estonia is hoping there are no hard feelings between them anymore but Prussia also has bigger fish to fry, it seems, and doesn’t take anything that happened between them personally these days.)

“So they’re veterans,” says Prussia.

“And anti-socialist,” says Estonia.

“Hm. So they say.”

“But they don’t like the communists either. They seem not to have any idealogy or connection with your … movements. They just want me to be a little more cautious, a little less open.”

“But they use the salute and wear special hats,” Prussia argues. “Sounds like a uniform to me.”

“Yes, well, you would know,” says Estonia darkly. “They’re winning majorities,” he adds. “Look, I have to say, I like their message about putting Estonia first -”

“I don’t,” warns Prussia.

“Of course you don’t,” snaps Estonia hotly. “You’ve never liked me succeeding, have you?”

“No, it’s not that,” Prussia insists.

“You know, maybe we  _don’t_  need to talk after all, if you’re going to be like that -”

But just then the men return to the room.

“I’ll write you, if I can,” says Prussia softly, and then, louder, “Ha ha! Anything to help a fellow Aryan nation in need! Right, guys?” The two gentlemen in armbands smile. Prussia looks like he wants to choke.

Estonia receives a postcard in two weeks.

'Hey kid,’ writes Prussia, “i _f_  you want my opinion the time for de _c_ isiveness is now. Yo _u_  know I  _a_ lways trust th _e_  a _r_ my -  _be_ st guys in the land. You’ll be a _l_ right.”

But it’s no coincidence that some of the letters are crooked. The tail on the 'f’ just a little too long, the loop on the 'l’ a little wiggled at the top, the bars on some of the e’s crooked, the loops of the 'r’ smeared and ugly. It’s not Prussia’s best penmanship. And the only way - truly the only way that Estonia could know - is because he’s received letters from him before, after centuries of it, he knows Prussia’s hand well enough that this must be deliberate.

Besides, if this is really all he wanted to say he would have telegrammed.

And the crooked letters spell out, once Estonia rearranges them, “be careful”. (Or maybe 'cab refuel’, or 'ace rub elf’, but Prussia’s demeanour two weeks ago really makes Estonia doubt these variants.)

“Do what you need to,” says Estonia, to the people who can, “before they do it first,” and Estonia wakes up in March to the world - unbelievably - having grown even darker, even grimmer, as his boss seizes control of him and Estonia lets it happen.

 _How do I know this is the right decision?_  thinks Estonia in a panic.

“It was just in time,” says his bosses. “They had Toompea surrounded and the city centre was theirs. If I hadn’t arrested them around the country, who knows what would have happened! We should shut down the rest of the political parties too. I think I’ll have to imprison the leaders. An example must be set.”

“Is that really necessary?”

But Estonia is swiftly reminded: “Your political haggling is what got us into this. You said we should do what we needed to. The time to strike is now! The time for decisiveness is now.”

_Only time will tell._

–

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> historical notes: takes place actually just before the Era of Silence. [Prussia’s government and cabinet was dismissed in 1932](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Preu%C3%9Fenschlag). Weimar Germany also had its share of [angry paramilitary veterans groups](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weimar_paramilitary_groups) yearnings for the glories of the past in a very Germany First kind of way. Despite this ushering in an era of isolationism as other European nations balked at the authoritarianism, Estonia’s trade relations were maintained both with England and Germany, which meant they were dependent on Germany’s economy and would have been hyper aware of their politics. I intended to provoke a creepy atmosphere as much of Europe at the time was Very Concerned at what was happening in Germany, but at the same time try and draw attention to the fact that decisions are made without hindsight. At this moment in time, Estonia has no idea, therefore, whether he’s saved himself, or Preußenschlagged himself.


	2. his story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 2: historical prompt, "National awakening". This one feels a bit jingoistic but a) that's national awakening/1800s revival type stuff for you and b) perhaps it's not so terrible given that it's Estonia and not a conqueror/colonialist nation.

In a beautiful field over which the sun rises, Estonia sees a woman who looks like him, like Latvia, and Lithuania - somehow, all at the same time, even though they have never looked very much alike. But there beside him now, for comparison, are Latvia and Lithuania, standing together in a row.

“I knew it,” gloats Latvia, “I  _knew_  we were brothers,” although that can’t possibly be, Latvia and Lithuania are to each other at best cousins despite nearly sharing a tongue, but Estonia believes him because their mother comes closer and introduces herself as such on this small but exemplary plot of land that is at once hers and theirs.

It’s probably just because it’s a dream -

The scene changes.

They live very happily, when suddenly one day an evil sorcerer from the north who has Norway and Sweden and Denmark’s looks - this must be Great Scandinavia, their father - takes their mother away. He is a giant, he simply picks her up, and carts her off. None of them except for Estonia seem to recognise the sorcerer for who he is. Anyway, he’s clearly evil, because he’s stolen their mother, so that’s going to have to change. It’s not until much later that Estonia realises: every nation must leave eventually, whether escorted away or carted away by the gods, it doesn’t matter, and this is the great lady Baltica’s last sojourn upon the earth, and the land she gave the trio is now properly inherited.)

The seas cannot stop Estonia. He looks along the coast and has ships, ships that he built, good and hardy, and so he sails from Saaremaa on a great journey, and the people he finds - the Vikings - say they don’t know where the lady in white has gone, but Estonia has had enough of their lies and their laughter and their cruelty. The Vikings for years have tormented him. It’s time for them to receive a little in return. He finds a mighty staff of oak, plucked from the ocean, and picks it up like a club.

The scene changes.

Estonia is past the Baltic sea now, on the north side, in Finland’s territory. Maybe Finland will know where Scandinavia has gone? Scandinavia, true to his word, has conjured up a great leidang army of Vikings to fend off Estonia, but he gets them in the end. He forgets why he’s fighting. Out of spite he thrashes Scandinavia to death with blows to the head with this club and only after does he realise -

The face looks too much like Sweden. This - this  _is_  Sweden - what has he done? What is this bestial strength that has befallen him? This isn’t who he is! Estonia falls to his knees in prayer and sorrow, tossing and turning in his sleep -

The scene changes.

Finland finds him. “I’m planning a voyage to the ends of the earth,” says Finland.

“Will you make me a sword?” asks Estonia.

This Finland does, but it takes a few tries before he hammers out a sword that Estonia can actually wield. At last Estonia holds one aloft and tests it on Finland’s anvil, which splits in two.

“It’s good?” asks Finland, laughing.

“Very good!” says Estonia, and swings it around. Then there is dinner and beer and song and Estonia loses himself after the third hornful, swinging the sword around again.

“Look what you’ve done!” shrieks Finland. Denmark’s head and body lie on the ground, cleaved clean apart.

“I curse the blade I created,” mutters Finland. “Let you die in the swamp, let you die by that sword! I am pointing at you, Estonia!”

The scene changes.

They are throwing stones now to see who will rule which land. Estonia’s goes farthest so he gets to choose. He gives Lithuania the south, and Latvia the middle, and takes the north for himself. For awhile he tends it, until he falls into a deep sleep, not realising that meanwhile [Riga has been overrun with Germans from the west, claiming to Christianise his brother](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northern_Crusades#Campaign_against_the_Livonians_.281198.E2.80.931212.29). Riga becomes an Archbishopric, and these men, and their nation - the Livonian Brotherhood - they come north -

The scene changes.

Estonia wakes up from a dream that his horse was eaten by wolves. ([wolves that wanted to convert him and subjugate him, wolves from Livonia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northern_Crusades#Campaign_against_the_Estonians_.281208.E2.80.931224.29))

But it’s not a dream, it’s true, his horse lies openly slain, and so Estonia gathers his sword and his club and his armies and slaughters all the beasts he can find in his vengeance, then sleeps again, because killing Livonians is frankly exhausting.

A messenger comes, informing him of a battle against his people, so Estonia marches off to war. He walks to the lake and -

\- and goodness, [is it 1242 already?](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_on_the_Ice) It’s like he was just killing Vikings a moment ago.

and Estonia walks onto the ice against Russia with Prussia and Denmark at his side. It’s a bad idea, he doesn’t care about it like Prussia and Denmark do, everyone’s far too heavy for this time of year on this thin ice, and no sooner has he made this observation but the great lake Peipus cracks and Prussia’s fallen into the water, blubbering and splashing like he can’t swim, which under all that armour he probably can’t. Estonia rolls his eyes and prepares to do nothing before he realises that amid all the shiny things Prussia is wearing is his sword.

That rat Prussia has stolen his sword. Well, Estonia jumps in after the sword.

But the sword seems happier at the bottom of the water so Estonia leaves it there.

“You should probably cut off the feet of anyone who crosses by, though,” he says, hoping it will be Prussia, hoping that will make him think twice about helping himself to someone else’s things.

The scene changes.

Now he’s fighting with more Germans. The many sons and daughters of the sorcerer - no, of Prussia - maybe both - anyway, they’re on his land. [Saaremaa is successful in an attack at first](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_George%27s_Night_Uprising). A signal is given by a house on fire to coordinate the attack at Harjamaa. And with the help of the Saarlased do the Germans fall - every last one of them, even in the Abbey, even the wives, even the children, every one of the sorcerer’s brethren, retinue, servants, all. After this initial success, Estonia appoints four kings for himself, and then, under a sorcerer’s enchantment, falls asleep. While dreaming of Finland’s workshop, the [Teutonic Order invades Terra Mariana, and now they are here to stay and Denmark is gone.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_George%27s_Night_Uprising#Aftermath_of_the_Battle_of_Warhill)

The scene changes.

Estonia journeys to hell, which is actually Russia, which explains a lot of things about how he feels about Russia. He finds an intricate and beautiful castle there but the people who live within are sad so he wrestles the man in charge, wins by deception, and frees the two maidens. The two maidens - Belarus and Ukraine - help by switching the liquors on Russia, so that he drinks the one that weakens him by mistake, and Estonia uses magic to make Russia believe his opponent weak. At last he removes the magic and returns to his old strength as Russia’s is exhausted.

Belarus helps get them to safety from being chased by demons who look curiously like [the Golden Horde](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Mongol_and_Tatar_raids_against_Rus%27) by using magic and a torrent of water shaped as a bridge. Estonia marries them off Poland to Ukraine, Lithuania to Belarus. [Poland takes half his land](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Livonian_War), and half of Latvia’s, and the rest is with Lithuania.

This must be a dream, thinks Estonia, not because Lithuania has helped annex him but because Belarus would never allow these marriages -

The scene changes.

Estonia’s planning a voyage to the ends of the earth. He has a great ship anchored off Saaremaa and heads north, meeting a laplander named Varruk. Varruk has Finland’s face. A few of the Laplanders have Finland’s face. Oh, whatever, it’s Finland. They’re all Finland. Finland is coming with him to the ends of the earth, as all good friends should.

Estonia returns from his voyage to the ends of the earth to find that his cities are now fortified, but there’s a force coming to invade - [Sweden from the west, successful after his disputes with Denmark.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duchy_of_Estonia_\(1561%E2%80%931721\)) Denmark is there too, [but only claims Saaremaa](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Treaty_of_Br%C3%B6msebro_\(1645\)), before he gives it away again. Sweden takes himself a pretty chunk so Estonia sets out to find further invaders.

Who else will claim him? When will it be enough?

At last he winds up at the gates of hell, and he’s thought of nothing during his journey but  _who’s next? who’s next?_ This time, when he fights big boss Russia at the end of his mighty army, Estonia is beyond enraged and doesn’t bother with trickery or deception, but Russia does, because Estonia catches an image of his mother, from so long ago. But maybe it isn’t Russia’s trickery after all, because another woman appears, who Russia calls mother. Their mothers are very similar looking. It doesn’t matter. After their lapse in concentration they continue their wrestling, and Estonia -

\- wins.

Estonia  _w i n s._

This has to be a dream -

 _I could win. I could_ win _, this time!_

The scene changes.

There’s more news of an invasion of the country by all sides by many enemies. Finland leaves for Lapland with Estonia’s book of wisdom, just as war comes, [Great and Northern](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Northern_War%22), and an army from the east appears. He consults the grave of his mother, but no answer comes, and Estonia and his friends must prepare for war.

So he buries all that treasure, everything, every glimmer of freedom that has ever crossed his heart, his sense of self, everything that has ever made him  _him_ , protected by an incantation to the gods he’s never truly given up, and he fights for himself because it’s what he does, it’s  _all_  he does.

Estonia loses his horse. Lithuania loses control. Everyone loses faith when the [unholy winter of 1709](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Frost_of_1709) causes widespread famine and death. Then Latvia is taken by Russia’s powerful navy - [everything is going so poorly](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capitulation_of_Estonia_and_Livonia) - and broken-hearted, Estonia leaves and crosses Lake Peipus without remembering that his sword lies beneath it, ready to cut off the feet of whoever crosses - and suddenly he can feel nothing below his ankles and he bleeds -

The scene changes.

Estonia opens his eyes.

“Oh!” said Russia. “Finally, you are awake. That took quite some time! I didn’t think you had had  _that_  much to drink yesterday night.”

The year was 1881. 1881, and Russia had begun paying closer attention to Estonia like he never had before, trying to make him more like Russia where in decades previous, he didn’t seem to care, and Estonia had only the German side of hegemony. Russia sat on Estonia’s bed, on top of Estonia’s feet. This was why he couldn’t feel them.

It was all a dream. A story he had heard a long time ago. [A story recently published.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kalevipoeg)

“Are you well?” asked Russia. “You look very scared.”

“I’m fine,” lied a shaken Estonia. “Just - there was a dream. And I was alone in a beautiful field, all my own, and I fought Vikings, and then the Livonian Brethren, and then the Danes, and then they sold me to the Teutonic Order, and then Sweden came along, and -”

“And then I came along!” finished Russia cheerily. Estonia’s face remained impassive. “Oh,” realised Russia. “You thought that was a dream. No, Estonia, that was no dream, that was history.”

“I see,” murmured Estonia.

Russia’s face fell, sympathetic, almost genuine. “I am sorry,” he said, “it must make you sad to remember all your failures.”

“No,” said Estonia, as neutrally as he can. “Not sad.”

Determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> historical notes: I had included these as links in the text on the original tumblr, and it was just simpler to keep that format when importing to ao3. The remainder of the dream’s thematic content is lifted entirely from the Kalevipoeg, with Estonia as the main character. In this case, National Awakening = literally, waking up, as from a dream that mixes the national epic with the national history. It’s definitely not a perfect match - certain things were created to serve the narrative of the epic (ex. a ‘mother’ for the Baltic states - no, this is just to have Linda as a character; Finland as Ilmarinen; aggressor nations are sometimes sorcerers; the voyage to the end of the earth; the sword that Finland makes which cuts off Estonia’s feet, the inclusion of Belarus and Ukraine as maidens of Sarvik to be married to Alev and Sulev, the oak club, etc -[compare and contrast all you like here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kalevipoeg)) and that’s why it’s a dream, meant to be more metaphorical than literal, touching on certain events in the timeline rather than an in-depth examination of it.


	3. The first time he really knew he was different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 3: historical prompt, "Ancient Estonia". Warning for character death, but like with canonverse, it's not permanent.

They call him Lembit, the strange boy who lives on the edge of the forest. Lembit is not sure that is properly his name, but Lembit is only about three years old. And Lembit… never seems to age.

This is not so strange in and of itself, after all they have heard of daughters born who remain children until their twenties when they cannot breathe any longer, but Lembit’s case seems different. He is the first boy they have heard of, and they are sure he is a boy because he is sometimes caught swimming naked, or what passes for swimming when one is three years old and smaller than a sheaf of wheat, end-to-end.

Nobody knows where his mother is, or if he has one, so the village keeps an eye on him, occasionally leaving him a little something here and there as they hunt and gather. Sometimes Lembit enters the village and people try and engage him in conversation, but it is always difficult to speak to a three-year-old about anything important. For example, Lembit will tell you that he roams far and wide, and travels on boats to islands that his little legs and arms couldn’t possibly take him to. Lembit says that he has a friend, north of the water, a little boy; and another, south, a little girl, past the folk they can’t well speak to. Lembit says that he talks to them sometimes, but again, he couldn’t possibly. These are only the fanciful tales of a child.

Once they took him southward on their flint trade. They have very little access to flint, so only local materials are properly used - bone, horn, schist; the bone tools are a relic from far, far older days - and they reuse the flint for arrowheads. When they truly need more, they must trade pottery for it, and their handiwork is some of the finest because they mix the clay with crushed snail shell or sand to temper it first, and this makes for a solid pot. They don’t talk well with the southerners with whom they trade, because their tongues are very strange. But they are nice people, and they make mention of a little boy, with dark jaw-length hair and bright green eyes, who plays all day in the sand dunes, that might be a good friend for Lembit.

Lembit has been in battle - once. He managed to escape alive and those who were there (who have been dead for countless years now) think that he probably wandered in by accident, though it doesn’t explain whose sword he picked up by accident. After that moment none have dared tempt the gods again, because his life is clearly touched by them, and it seems ungrateful to repay the gods with the recklessness of waving a sword or club about without compunction, like the giants of old in the tales. And anyway, Lembit is too small yet to be of any real use in skirmishes.

So Lembit stays at home, where there isn’t much to do for him. He has had some success with his own small wolf-pup who he found, rejected by her mother. (Some say Lembit too was rejected by his mother.) This he raised as his own, like the others in the village who have dogs, and when she mated with other wolves he took the pups and watched them grow, and watched them mate, took more pups, and again, and again, for Lembit is beyond years for a three-year-old.

Now, this handling of dogs is a method known by them for some time now, beyond memory, that they can be friended out of their wolfness, but new in trade with southern people is tamed sows. This is something new, and Lembit’s people trade many pots and tools and amber for a few of these sows that have been friended out of their wild boarness. They are kept quartered off in a field, enclosed by stakes and a watted fence of twigweave, the people knowing that the stink of the sow heat will attract wilder boars at night when the men and women are sleeping and from there will come piglets.

One time Lembit comes across one such element at night, a male. Upset that in a quest for dominance with another who won the rights to the sow for that night, he runs young Lembit clean through with his tusks on the shoulder, and flings him aside with a toss of its mighty neck and massive shoulders. Lembit lands badly on his head and neck, and is discovered only in the morning. There is no chance for him.

So perhaps indeed, death comes to all, even long-lived Lembit, and in the end however long his years, they have expired. His people give him a burial in the old way, for an old soul, a three-year-old born countless years ago. He is lain in the shallow pit curled with his little knees to his chest, an arm supporting his tiny head, and the rocks are set upon him in a cairn.

But then he wakes again. Three days later they hear a child’s cry and it takes the people of the village a full afternoon to realise it is coming from within the cairn. It takes another time before someone is brave enough to pry loose the stones, because everybody in the village remembers burying young Lembit.

And who is inside the cairn, healthy and hale, but Lembit, looking really upset that he has been left alone, locked in a cold dark place for this long.

Nobody understands, but they agree that it is not theirs to understand, and Lembit perhaps has his own faults because he never grows older than three, and this makes him a strain upon others.

In fact, Lembit does grow, but by the time he does, the Narva culture has long since been dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> historical notes: I wanted to get  _really_  ancient with this, not only because I had Viking Estonia ideas that I was saving in the hopes that we’d get an Oeselians day, which we did! so that was that. While I don’t think it’s plausible that Estonia or the others mentioned herein would exist as a nation-tan in this era (if anything it would be a predecessor nation-tan), I like playing around with the worldbuilding generally, so here’s this, where all the nations that we have today have always existed, but perhaps not in their current name/memory/culture/incarnation.  
> The culture mentioned is the [Narva culture](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narva_culture), which existed around Estonia a super long time ago (~3200BC to about the Bronze Age). They had no flint and had to trade for it; [Neman culture](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neman_culture) finds, around where Lithuania is presently, include Narva-era and -style pottery. The culture of the Finno-Ugrids was theoretically pushed north/south separating what would later become the Hungarians from Finnic peoples either by the Indo-Europeans or possibly some other people who left no mark that we have to date found. [This was the kind of boat](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hjortspring_boat) that they would have had. Dogs were domesticated [most definitely by 14600 BC](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Origin_of_the_domestic_dog) though a trade route in pigs was established much later and pig domestication continued on until who knows. [See this paper for more!](http://www.pnas.org/content/104/39/15276.long)


	4. first kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 4: historical prompt, "Polish Livonia". Contains PolEst (Poland/Estonia).

_late 1500s, Tartu_

“At least he’s leaving,” said Poland. “Now that he’s finally recognised that we have control here.”

“Yes, so he said,” replied Estonia. “I don’t know if I believe him. Russia’s certainly taking his time. He’s already deported the German population.”

“I don’t think you mind,” Poland quipped.

“Hah, no,” replied Estonia, “but he’s settling Russians in their stead. His nobles in the service of his tsar are being given pieces of me like they’re prizes.”

“That’s cool,” said Poland.

” _And_  he’s appointed an Orthodox bishop in Tartu,“ finished Estonia.

Poland actually did a double-take. ” _What?!_ “ he screeched. "He did not. He  _did not!_ ”

Of course he did.

Poland, enraged, was something Estonia had never before seen. He said he wanted to “go super Catholic, and totally counter this Reformation”. Estonia had been initially hesitant. Surely this wouldn’t be crusading all over again? The year was 1590, not some backwater temporal waste like the 1200s. They were technologically advanced now! They were civilised! Stuff like that couldn’t happen in this year, could it?

“Omigod, no,” said Poland, “you got me all wrong. I wanna build a school.”

A school. That sounded nice.

So Poland built a school. It was a school for priests, but still a school. Then Poland built another school, not just for priests, and they taught a lot more than the Bible.

Estonia found that he really, really enjoyed school. This was also the point where he found his vision had deteriorated to the point that he couldn’t see the lecturer from a distance of more than four paces away, so he had a usual spot at the very front of the room, and a similar spot at the front of the room in the Jesuit library for his religious studies classes (on which Poland insisted).

A man from Mantua arrived, and with him came little Italy Veneziano, young and spirited and full of ideas. “You should invite more people,” said Veneziano. “It could be so fun around here! Invite everybody!”

“Like Finland?” asked Estonia.

Veneziano laughed. “Silly Estonia! No, I was thinking more France, and Netherlands, and Holy Rome, the parts that are good thinkers. You know, all the Catholic parts. Maybe Austria? Do you like Scotland? How about Hungary?”

The settlers were promised land and a tasty tax exemption for ten years. Lithuania came around a lot more often, staying for about half a year, which was uncharacteristic of him. So did Poland, who was overseeing the rebuilding of the Tartu Cathedral. Poland’s plans were splendid, visionary, the largest in the Baltic. And he had other ideas.

“So I was thinking, if I know how you speak, y'know, with your people, the job of the Jesuits will be a lot easier,” reasoned Poland.

“You want to convert my people,” said Estonia.

“Well, yeah, but to do that you’ll have to teach us priests some Estonian,” said Poland. “So that the Jesuits can talk to your people.”

No one had ever  _really_  asked this. Back in the Ordensstaat days, Prussia had had a few interested members, mostly monks, who were curious about some phrases but liked to interpret their own meaning in everything and weren’t satisfied sometimes with the answer he gave, preferring to insert their own agenda. Estonia had expected to be demanded to learn Polish, for the same reason he spoke such fluent German. But for all of Lithuania’s opinion about Poland’s Lithuanian language skills, perhaps times were different, and Poland was trying out a new angle.

“Besides,” reasoned Poland, “it’s ridiculous to expect you all to learn Latin. And if you’re busy learning Latin you’ll be too busy to think about God.”

They spent about a year on this project in the library in the collegium, usually alone, head to head at the front of the room. Estonia carefully told Poland how to speak, being more insistent this time about what the words actually meant, and Poland asked careful questions about exactly how to say what, and in the end, with Estonia’s help on some of the finer grammar and technical points, Poland was doing a pretty good job.

“Well, you can string a sentence together,” said Estonia, as he finished the last page of a simple prayerbook. He fingers the pages idly, and thinks,  _mine_. “This is more than I’ve ever expected.”

“Right, but like… what do you  _think?_ ” asked Poland. “About the material, I mean.”

“I think you’re trying to charm me into a conversion,” said Estonia, blushing.

Poland grinned. “Maybe. Is it working?”

Maybe. It was only church literature, nothing special, but it was in his language and Poland seemed to think that it meant something, seemed to think that his tongue meant something. Maybe that he was meant something.

“If you liked that one,” said Poland, “I’ll write you more books. Guy named Skarga’s got some good sermons you might like.”

“More church literature?”

“Actually,” admitted Poland, “I think he’s actually pretty critical of me in them, so most people aren’t reading it. But. You seem like you might find it interesting. It’s about political structures and reform.”

“I’d like that,” said Estonia. He smiled. “Thanks, Poland. That means a lot to me.” That Poland would think about what would interest him.

Poland sighed, and his gaze wavered before he seemed to decide something, judging by the set of his jaw and the sudden focus in his eyes.

And then Poland’s face was very near his and Poland’s soft and warm mouth was upon his.

Nearly immediately he drew back. “What,” said Estonia. “What was that for?”

“I dunno,” said Poland, “just wanted to try it. See what all the fuss was about.”

Estonia blinked, not sure what to say or think. At last he settled on, “Do you want to try it again?”

Poland bit his lip and looked away. “Yeah, whatever,” he said, “I guess,” but when he pressed his lips to Estonia’s it was clear he wanted it more than he let on. He tilted his head and angled his nose a bit better beside Estonia’s and sighed again, then placed his cool slender fingers along Estonia’s jaw. Estonia gasped, and there was Poland’s tongue in his mouth and Estonia began to feel light-headed and weak-kneed -

The door to the library opened with a squeak. “Poland, I wanted to ask -”

They were each back in their chairs in a flash, Estonia not quite certain why it was shameful to be caught, but reacting without thinking. It didn’t matter; by the look on his face, Lithuania had guessed.

“Oh, Liet,” said Poland, and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s just you. I thought it was one of the brothers.”

“Poland, can I maybe talk to you?” said Lithuania sternly. “Alone.”

Poland shrugged. “Okay,” he said.

It took a full moment of Lithuania looking pointedly between Estonia and Poland before Estonia got it and stood. “Oh. I’ll just -”

“Thanks.” Lithuania spoke tersely.

 _I’ll just leave you two alone to discuss_ me _on_ my _land,_  thought Estonia, but didn’t say it. He picked up his book and left.

Lithuania couldn’t blame him for listening in, could he? Estonia leaned against the door to the library, his little book in Estonian clutched to his chest.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s none of your business what I’m doing!” said Poland. “Unless you’re just mad that I did it first. Jealous, much?”

The stutters Estonia heard told him that Lithuania was lost for words and partway to apoplectic. “He’s like a brother to me,” Lithuania finally spat out.

“Yeah, well, he isn’t like one to me, I think he’s grown into a fine young man -” Estonia’s cheeks warmed - “and you can’t blame me for trying -”

“I  _can_  blame you for pressing an advantage, you own him at the moment.”

“Better me than that orthodox creep!”

“And that’s another thing, what do you think your Jesuit brothers would think of this? Hmm?”

There was silence.

“So you  _do_  know it’s something you shouldn’t be doing.”

“Nevertheless,” Poland said quietly, as Estonia strained to hear, “I can make my own mistakes, Lithuania.”

“Not with him.” Lithuania tutted. “Honestly. He’s one of your serfs.” And this was the point where Estonia had had enough of eavesdropping and left.

They met more often, but sometimes with Lithuania there (who didn’t understand any Estonian). And the times when Lithuania wasn’t, a priest was around. Sometimes they were alone, but on those times Poland never asked and so Estonia never offered

But he continued to hold a soft sentiment for the library. Somewhere where he felt special. Worthy.

Not thirty years later, Sweden came in from the north, here to stay, and Sweden - a convicted Protestant - destroyed much. The destruction of the cathedral was a shame, but the destruction of the library hurt.

“This’s propaganda,” said Sweden, tossing the pages into the fire. Estonia watched as the pages curled in the flames around his careful little q’s. “Y'don’t need it. I’ll write ya new ones.” And though Sweden eventually did, it didn’t make the sting less painful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> historical notes: I hesitated on using Poland as the stand-in for the Jesuit Order in South Estonia, but [this guy!](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sigismund_III_Vasa#Piotr_Skarga_and_Sigismund.2C_.22King_of_the_Jesuits.22) is the guy in power atm so idk, maybe it’s warranted. I’m really not religiously qualified enough to comment. At the end of the day I really just wanted more historical EstPol interaction. Also [this Skarga guy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piotr_Skarga) as Poland himself notes is a super interesting sort of figure. Commonwealth reform is also a really interesting thing around this era, which I don’t know much about tbh, so for those reasons I’ve kept it purposefully vague. The language they’re speaking would be one of the [South Estonian](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_Estonian) group, since that’s the actual part of Estonia included in Polish Livonia. This group includes languages like Tartu, Mulgi, Võro and Seto. Interesting about these is a) they kept the vowel harmony that North Estonian had lost, at least by the point of standardisation in the 1800s during the National Awakening, and b) a separate glottal character for word-final glottal stops, <q>, which appears a  _lot_ , whereas I don’t think the word-final glottal stop is phonemic in Northern Estonian. There’s a ton of other differences but they’re more linguistically technical. [Estonica](http://www.estonica.org/en/History/1558-1710_Estonia_under_Swedish_rule/Estonia_divided_between_Sweden,_Poland_and_Denmark/) is a brilliant site generally (though it lacks citations) and has a lot of interesting stuff about this era. Put simply, Jesuit work in Estonia was at the order of the Poles as part of the Counter-Reformation, brought in a then-internationally renowned Italian Jesuit named Possevino from the north of Italy, who suggested the immigration of other Catholics (ex. Austria, Italy (either), Spain, Scotland, Netherlands, France, Hungary…) to help Catholify the south of Estonia. Anybody who wants canon historical Eesti rarepairs? This is a Really Good Era For That!


	5. Duplicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 5 (which I finished much later): historical prompt, "Interwar Period (1920-1939)". Contains RusEst (Russia/Estonia).

_spring 1920_

“Come now,” said Russia, as the negotiations concluded, “I know you are something of a social democrat, you have been since 1905. But you have too many Western ideals of it, you would really benefit from what we are doing now. I don’t mean takeover! I mean maybe I give you things to read.”

Russia had already been giving him plenty to read. Estonia had to keep ripping up all those illegal underground leaflets and pamphlets. “In Estonian?” said Estonia.

“Well, I don’t speak that!” said Russia. “But  _you_  speak  _my_  tongue.”

“It was your Bolsheviks who wanted the official language Estonian,” argued Estonia.

Russia grumbled. “Yes, and then you let that Teutonic asshole throw them out!”

“I am the one who threw them out!”

“I thought you liked them!” Russia said. “They had much support, they were so strongly supported in your lands, more than in mine by proportion - they had four out of the eight seats I gave you.”

Eight whole seats, wasn’t that generous? Certainly they were once popular, but that was in 1917, before he became independent! “They forced leading politicians to go underground,” explained Estonia, “and they didn’t want to give me statehood, they wanted me part of you!”

“Is that really so bad,” murmured Russia, mostly to himself. This comment went unacknowledged by Estonia, though he was certain the souring of his face gave him away.

“They were anti-Estonian and if that’s so, then they should leave. They tried to stage a coup, they - they ruined the trade union congress last year! You are always messing around in my politics.” (“Because you are mine,” murmured Russia. Another ignored comment.) “If it weren’t for the German forces occupying, I could not have declared independence so quickly, and they at least acknowledged the Provisional Government!”

Russia rolled his eyes. On him the movement looked nearly coquettish. “This is what I mean, I try to do good and you are taking his side always. I am glad I granted them exile before he occupied you, I don’t know what  _he_  would have done with that nice party, perfectly good social democrats -”

“That was a Bolshevik party. Estonian branches of a Russian party. They weren’t very good at building alliances,” said Estonia. “The opposition was stronger, and I liked what they had to say and how they said it, sometimes it is that simple. It has nothing to do with Germany -”

“It is not Germany I am truly concerned about,” said Russia darkly, “and you know this. You have always had eyes for the older brother, I think.”

“Please,” snapped Estonia. “You sound like a jealous suitor.”

Russia said nothing, but his gaze would not meet Estonia’s, flitting instead left and right.

“You can’t be serious!” Estonia exclaimed.

“Only that I see in you a very good mind,” said Russia defensively, and Estonia - damn him - was flattered. “Why else do I send you literature?”

“I think you are sending me more than literature,” said Estonia.

“To help convince you!”

“I shouldn’t need the extra convincing, if your literature and ideas are really so great,” Estonia argued.

“Oh, don’t spoil that pretty mouth with such seditious words!” said Russia, his heavy pout doubtless a mockery of sultriness.

“I speak my mind now,” insisted Estonia. “If you don’t like the words, then you don’t like my mind.”

“Well, that isn’t true,” said Russia, with a flirtatious smile. Absurd, was what this was. Estonia would not be seduced, and it was pathetic and almost comical to try. “Anyway… this is just food for thought. I like to feed you.”

Estonia was momentarily mollified. “I have nothing against them if they have nothing against me. If they reorganise, make the party less about transforming me into you, then I could have them out of exile in your lands. Until then, I don’t see why you should get to say who comes back and who doesn’t. They’re my people, I decide this.”

“And so too do I decide for my own people!” said Russia.

“This is why we are sitting here at a table for this treaty,” said Estonia. “Now. One last time, do you agree on the border?”

Russia sighed and looks away, a petulant child. “Yes,” he said.

“And everything else you have already signed for, you have agreed to this?”

“Yes,” he said again.

“And lastly: you renounce all your rights to me.” This was crucial.

“You are still going to let me build a port in Tallinn?”

“We did not specify Tallinn,” though Estonia was happy to hear Russia using the proper Estonian name, “it says only some harbour - we have both already signed for this.”

“I would like in Tallinn,” said Russia, batting his long eyelashes coquettishly. “And maybe you will be kind enough to let me have it, you know, since I am being so good,  _and_  giving you your share of the gold from the empire,  _and_  absolving your old debt,  _and_  letting you have some land and building you a railway line to Moscow - look how good I am being to you, Estonia. Please, Tallinn!”

“It’s not necessary that it be in Tallinn!” said Estonia once again. “And when it comes to it, I will make the decision of where, because the most important part is, you are renouncing your rights to me.”

“Then yes, a thousand times yes!” Russia exclaimed, his already limited patience exhausted. And with this Estonia knew he would at least grant Russia that free port he wanted in Tallinn. Probably because it was close to Petrograd. Sure, let the man have his silly port, for him to say this, and his sour grapes attitude was evidence that he meant it. “I renounce my claim on you, so go govern yourself, run yourself into the ground, see if I care,” said Russia. “I’ve already signed that, what do you want to do by reminding me again?”

“I just like the sound of independence so much I need to hear it from your mouth,” sneered Estonia. I need to hear that you know what you’re saying, he thought. If only he could record the sound somehow. Put it on a Pathé record, listen to it on phonograph in his evenings.

Russia leaned in and pointed to his lips. Slowly, over enunciating his words, he said, “You are free now. Independence, like you wanted. Are you happy?”

Russia’s lips shaping the word ‘independence’. Applying it to him. Estonia smiled. Then he realised he had been watching Russia’s mouth for far too long. He looked back into Russia’s sad, angry eyes and said, “Yes. I’m very happy.”

“Good, well. I am  _so happy_  that you’re happy,” said Russia flatly. “Now I have my own problems that need attending to.”

This had been too easy. But Russia’s recent conflicts with them - Estonia, the other Baltic states, Finland, and Poland - were unsuccessful. No kickstarting a socialist revolution for him out of internal instability. No fabricating internal instability to spark insurgency and fan flames into a major uprising. And now Russia was diplomatically and socially isolated. He had no choice but to recognise the independence, and as for treaties, he needed a friend. So if Estonia could profit from such a friendship by getting what he wanted, what he was owed? Well, all the better.

–

_summer 1921_

The election had been at the end of November. A real election - not Estonia’s first of those, that was 1919, but he thought he’d never get sick of hearing that. Who would ever not go to polls? This one had even higher a turnout.

Russia wasn’t doing too well, and that was saying something, because he hadn’t been doing too well from about 1917 onwards. He was ragged, and his greatcoat for once hid no bulk, because it hung off his shoulders like on a hanger, his shoulders were as thin as the wire. His eyes were dull and listless. He said - in passing, because Estonia wasn’t supposed to be talking to him, but it was difficult to avoid one’s neighbour - “Well, there are some good ideas on the horizon. This New Economic Policy. I have a lot of faith!”

Estonia snorted. “Didn’t you outlaw that?”

Russia looked confused, torn between anger and amusement. “So you do have a sense of humour,” he said.

“When I’m using it against you, certainly,” Estonia said.

“I am so glad you enjoy making fun,” said Russia. “You know, I am starving and broke, it is rude to kick me when I am down.”

“You mean you didn’t outlaw money as well?”

“Come now, Estonia, that’s enough,” said Russia sadly, and he looked so pathetic and hard done by. It nearly tugged at Estonia’s heartstrings. This is what’s wrong with me, Estonia thought, I shouldn’t pity him. It was not Estonia’s problem that Russia’s bosses could not keep the country fed.

“Well, there isn’t anything I can help you with,” Estonia replied.

“I have - maybe something in here you might like,” said Russia. He gestured to the bag on his back. “Maybe we trade?”

And he looked so hopeful, so Estonia agreed to send him along with a little food and invited him in for tea and cakes. Estonia further pretended not to notice when Russia ate more than his fair share of the cakes. Russia eating more than his fair share, after all, was nothing new to Estonia. Estonia would not send aid to feed Russia’s citizenry - that would be foreign intervention, and his boss wanted none of that - but he could at least feed Russia himself when he limped too close to Narva.

When the conversation died down and grew awkward, which took only so long as Russia finished eating, because Estonia wasn’t willing to fill the space with words with a man he hardly liked, Russia turned his attention to the newspaper. It was in Estonian, so Russia asked what news with his world, and Estonia told him about the elections.

“Your people have fuller bellies,” Russia noted. He eyed with longing at the new breadth in Estonia’s chest, the curves of his shoulders. “You as a whole look healthier for it.”

“Part of the land reform,” he replied. “My new goverment is going to let them keep the farmland. The Baltic Germans had been left just over half a square kilometre each, with no compensation. And they’ll keep some money, too, since they’re conservative.”

“Do you think this is fair?” Russia asked slyly. “Some will have more than others.”

“And for the first time in history the some that have more are ethnic Estonians, so I can’t say I’m sad.”

Russia looked again at the paper. “It was these farmer’s assemblies, then?” he asked, pointing. “Sounds so socialist worker.” Russia almost sounded proud.

“No, the social democratic worker’s party is in third place,” Estonia explained.

“I see,” said Russia instead, peering again at the numbers. “They have lost a lot of seats to these conservatives! This doesn’t worry you?”

Russia was beginning to overstay his welcome, limited as it had ever been. “You know, I don’t see what business of yours it is,” said Estonia.

“Do not be mad, I am just making conversation,” said Russia. He reached over the kitchen table and grazed the backs of his fingers along Estonia’s cheek in a surreal affection. His fingers were ice. Estonia repressed a tremor. He knocked Russia’s hand away when he tried to do it a second time, and Russia used the feeble strength remaining to him to glower. “I know you think conservativism is lovely, your darling Prussia always did, but think of your landless, your unemployed, your teachers and students!”

“Speaking of your students, do you really think they deserve rations first when you have so many starving workers?” added Estonia. “America said, he wanted to help -”

“America wants to interfere in my affairs,” said Russia pointedly.

“Which you have never done, ever, to another country,” Estonia said.

Russia’s face pinched. The fingers of his right hand drew closed to a clutched fist, which he clenched, and he looked to his left as he gathered his thoughts. In the end he heaved a sigh and didn’t say anything. “Thank you for the tea and the cakes, Estonia,” he said, and stood to leave.

He made it as far as the door. “Take the potatoes in the cupboard,” Estonia called out. Estonia did not look back, but tilted his head to better hear. There was some rummaging, and then the door closed behind him as he shuffled away. I don’t know why I bother, Estonia thought.

Estonia looked again at the paper. How did Russia know the Rural League was conservative? In fact, Russia certainly knew a lot about which parties were what, needing only the translation of the Estonian names to Russian.

Suppose not all of them were entirely legal.

An idea struck him, and he began to make specific preparations.

–

_spring 1922_

The economic situation wasn’t amazing (though not as bad as Russia’s was, but this was a low bar to pass) and these unwanted elements filtered to the top readily in such situations. It always happened like that. There were trends they followed, leaving tells: left-leaning groups, potentially radical beliefs, a quick re-appointing of the board of members as a flock of people were suddenly expelled. No doubt they worked to slowly achieve a majority, and then dismissed any remaining dissenters.

These became umbrella organisations for Russia’s bolshevism inside his own country. Of course, it was most popular in urban workers, and of course, it was most popular with the Russian speakers in the east. Estonia shouldn’t be surprised if Russia himself were screaming the content of his leaflets over the border on his days off from killing himself.

Over the next while, there were more crimes against the states by communists. It was not just left-leaning groups. If only it were just that. These particular activists sought rather to dismantle the state, following this dream of Russia’s boss to trigger a communist world revolution. Estonia had waited far too long and far too patiently to be dismantled by a bunch of insurgents after he had finally gained his long-coveted independence. No fucking way.

One of the insurgents spoke Russian from across the bars, and seemed to know who Estonia was. “You should listen to him!” this fellow shouted, a desperate cry. “He has such ideas, you know he only wants what’s best!”

What’s best for him, maybe. No doubt an Estonian communist state would be hastily reabsorbed. “Take him away,” said Estonia, in Estonian. “I don’t need treasonous filth.”

But exile did not stop the agitation.

A Worker’s Day demonstration in 1922 bloomed on the first of May, an ugly crocus, and was attended by many people, though Estonia was happy to find that a further many were not listening to them or paying them much attention. In the procession, the Security Police found the man they had been looking for since 1920, when he had slain one of theirs. Unfortunately, they did not succeed in taking him without injuring one of their own.

They got some information out of him in exchange for downgrading his treason death sentence for a life-sentence. Some of his boasts could not be trusted: he claimed there were thousands of underground fighters (the Security Police’s intelligence suggested two thousand in all Estonia,  _maybe_ , and 500 at best in Tallinn) and he would not give up the location of the leader, but they wore him down eventually.

By any rights the ringleader should have left his safe house. Unbelieveably, he had not. Also in the safe house were books, phones, propaganda and leaflets, a machine gun, dynamite, and more. In a day this fellow was interviewed, transferred to the military court, sentenced to death for treason, and executed later that night. It was a busy 3rd of May.

Execution did not stop the agitation.

Two men were caught, and no longer a problem, and this had chopped off the head of the underground communist movement in Estonia, but it only made it a smaller problem, the group itself was no less militant. How should this information get to the remaining 500? The last thing Estonia wanted was a martyr or a cult figure. Unless it could be used to weed some of them out. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to return to Russia to poke for some more information.

–

_spring 1923_

Estonia did not meet with Russia until early 1923, after the formal creation of the Soviet Union and Russia has become the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic. It escaped Estonia’s attention not one bit that Russia was the best economically developed of them - he looked meaty again, filling out the shoulders of his greatcoat - even though they had all just concluded civil wars.

In Estonia’s opinion, this was nothing more than Russia being Russia, but Russia seemed really convinced it would work. “Not just Russian ethnic chauvinism!” he said. “If I had wanted to merge them into myself, I could have done it, you know. I didn’t, we are a union. I am committed to this, do you not see? They joined because they wanted to!”

“They joined because they felt obliged because you ground them down,” said Estonia.

“No. Ukraine has had her own civil war to fight.”

“And you have been talking to their Soviet groups, I am sure, and marching your Red Army west into her territories?”

But Russia was shaking his head. “It was not all me, I have been busy! She sees reason now. They see reason. You too could see reason,” Russia added, “and if you did, you’d see it my way. Because it’s intelligent! Because you’re intelligent. You could join us.”

“And be a part of you, you mean,” said Estonia.

“As I would be a part of you,” said Russia, and Estonia felt a shiver race up his spine. “That is what union means. We are going forth to become successful.” He took Estonia’s hands in his and said, imploring, “Be part of this, with me!”

Part of dealing with Russia and meeting with him, as very tentative steps toward something like friendship with his closest neighbour, had become dealing with this issue, which Russia never failed to bring up. Sometimes wheedling, sometimes coaxing, sometimes convincing. Sometimes alluring, sometimes seducing. Russia would try anything, Estonia knew. It was pointless to tell him flat out no when he wouldn’t even listen to it and instead kept talking. Just let the daft man talk, he thought, and try not to truly listen to any of it, because though Russia had ever been good with words, no matter how pretty he might make it sound, it was nonetheless  _him_.

But Estonia remembered also about Poland’s prometheism movements, strategic nationalism as a polar opposite to Soviet Russia’s communism. Another foreign interference, certainly, but one solid point remained. “If you’re not talking about ethnic groups being ethnic groups, then it doesn’t seem there’s room for me to be an Estonian, and be a Soviet,” Estonia reasoned.

This did not appear to bother Russia. “Wouldn’t it be better to be Soviet?” he said.

“Absolutely not,” said Estonia.

Russia clucked his tongue, disapproving, though he brushed his thumbs across the backs of Estonia’s hands, where he held them. “This is very petit-bourgeois of you, this nationalism.”

Estonia pulled his hands back, and surprise of surprises, Russia let him. “I can’t believe you would say that,” he said. “Of all people, you.”

Russia put a hand to his chest. “I have learned! Do you think -?” He huffed, pouting. “You think I am exactly like my general secretary,” he said. “Well, you know, I do not like him very much, he is not intelligent, too crude, intolerant, not very polite. He’s not a nice man.” Russia blurted this out like a truth he was almost ashamed to admit.

Estonia, unfazed, flared. “Sounds like someone I know,” he retorted.

Russia flinched. “You are so cruel to me, Estonia,” and for a moment, with his hurt expression, Estonia almost felt regret.

“Look,” he said. “This man is going to be the successor.”

“Certainly, if you talk to him and all his friends,” said Russia. “But this is not just, not if my boss has anything to say about it.”

“Your boss is dying!”

“He’s doing no such thing,” insisted Russia. Russia, it seemed, was even less willing to talk about this than Estonia was about being courted into Bolshevism. “He still has his mind, he still has his ideas, and he has still been active.”

Oh, really, thought Estonia. Doing what, precisely? At last they hit upon what he was looking for. “What kind of activity can a bedridden man take?” he asked, feigning flippancy.

“You would be surprised!” exclaimed Russia, happy to convince. “His mind is always keen, one simply has to follow the nose and act fast, it is the instability which is fruitful. It is instability which is a sign that the workers are unhappy, their needs unmet.”

“And how would a bedridden man meet their needs with his mind or nose alone?”

“Well, not just his mind, there are always resources to send to those who would want to participate in the glorious world revolution, those who would seek to fortify their nation,” said Russia.

Russia appeared to realise that he had said too much. His brows furrowed and his gaze became flighty, darting to the left again, a pinned and panicky bird. His shoulders tensed and his right fist clenched before he forced himself to relax it. Estonia carefully catalogued all of these.

“Surely your new successor can also direct funds,” said Estonia, “though I hear he is less urging to meddle in others and wants to concentrate efforts on improvement of the nation.” He said this mostly as a distraction, and Russia took the bait as opportunity to argue about Stalin, which from the sounds of it was his favourite thing to do.

–

_autumn 1923_

In May, there was another election. Some lists were declared void before the elections because of law violations. Nevertheless it was a lot more stable than other governments, and after June, September, and October - watching Bulgaria and Germany deal with uprisings - Estonia realised he was a lot safer than he might have thought. After all, he wasn’t the one whose currency was useless.

But he could not be assured that he was completely safe. Russia’s murmurings about his boss only following the nose and stirring shit when there was shit to stir was one thing. Estonia wasn’t convinced Russia would think the same for very long.

“It looks like a very fragmented parliament,” had said Russia, after the election in May. A) it was none of Russia’s business and B) Russia appeared to be making things his business  _if he thought there was shit to stir._

“It’s probably nothing,” Estonia had said, feigning modesty. Russia’s eyes refused to meet his, and his shoulders were tense..

–

_spring 1924_

As he found out, the Estonian Bolsheviks were easier to root out than having to go so far as to plant a man in their ranks. The Security Police had, up until recently, needed nothing more than to keep a watchful eye on their movements, but in January, they began their crackdown - make there be  _no shit for Russia to stir_  - and they carried out raids that led to the arrest of 200 people. They shut down newspapers and organisations and worker’s societies, anything that looked unconstitutional. It was nearly a witch hunt. But some of the people put on trial were also members of parliament, and Estonia felt this could not be.

Surely that was it? Surely it went no deeper than that? Surely Russia had his own mess to fix, now that his boss Lenin had finally died, and there were no more shit-disturbers in Estonia’s cities?

–

_november 1924_

As the trial of 149 would-be militant communist concluded in late November, Estonia heard disturbing reports from the United Kingdom, where a letter had surfaced a month earlier, days before their election, urging their communist parties to take action and steps to radicalising the workers in preparation. The letter came from the head of Comintern, Comrade Zinoviev himself, and this was all the excuse Estonia needed to pay closer attention to seditious activities happening at home, for which the Security Police had found some disturbing news related to the members on trial.

“But I wasn’t even in England,” said Russia, when he was asked. “I don’t do that sort of thing anymore,” he chirped, his eye contact furtive and his shoulders significantly tenser when he shrugged them.

“Of course you don’t,” said Estonia, with false sympathy and understanding. “Of course not. Russia, you haven’t changed an iota.”

“But I have! My new boss only works on stuff at home,” he explained. “And I am glad! It is quite clever of him to do so, your little instabilities need not concern him, and he can spend more time getting foreign investments to pick up the economy.”

 _My_  little instabilities? thought Estonia. “Isn’t that the direct opposite of what your previous boss said?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Russia with a smile, and a clenched fist.

“I thought you liked your previous boss,” said Estonia.

“Oh, I adored him!” Russia flitted a glance quickly to the left. “But I have seen reason now, as we all will in the end. Stalin will lead us well, and no other. I put all my faith in my new boss!”

“And just to be clear, this is still the faith which you outlawed?” asked Estonia, expecting that Russia would play it off for the joke that it was.

But Russia paled, and for a moment he looked terrified and haunted. “I didn’t really mean faith,” he said, his voice dropping. “It was only metaphorical. I  _don’t_  believe. You know that. Don’t you?”

“Of course,” said Estonia neutrally.

“Anyway, if you’re not going to exile any of those good comrades,” said Russia, “I will be on my way.”

–

_december 1924_

Shortly after midnight on the 1st of December, Estonia received an urgent message from an officer in the Security Police.

“Your associate,” said the officer. “The big one, with the scarf? The one like you?”

“Soviet Russia,” clarified Estonia.

“We, ah - we lost sight of him,” the officer admitted. “We’re pretty sure he left the country, but…”

Russia had been intended to escort any people Estonia exiled in the trial, but none of them received exile sentences, either prison or forced labour - things Estonia could handle internally. Estonia far preferred it that way.

Estonia gave a heavy sigh. “Why am I not surprised,” he muttered. “Alright, open an investigation for him. Keep your eyes peeled a bit better this time.”

“Yes sir, Eesti sir,” said the officer, saluted, and left. Estonia went to bed, fully prepared to address this matter with the proper seriousness in the morning.

But they woke him very early, before the sun. “Something’s happening,” said the officer on duty.

Somehow, he knew, this was related to Russia. Again, he should not be surprised. Estonia listened with increasing horror as they told him about the defence college with the cadets, how insurgents had attacked a dormitory with  _hand grenades_  and opened fire on the ground floor. Some return fire gave the remaining cadets time to get to the armoury and launch a proper counter attack, and the insurgents retreated. But there were casualties.

“Alright,” said Estonia, breathing heavily. “Then, this is an uprising?”

“Well,” said the officer, trailing away.

Another picked up where the first left off. “They’re well enough armed. They have formed battalions, and one has captured Toompea and has entered the State Elder’s apartments - don’t worry, he himself has escaped, but they hold the government buildings, and they’re stopping trains in the central station.”

“Then, this is a  _coup_ ,” said Estonia, and it began to feel like he had swallowed something heavy and cold, and that thing had gathered in the pit of his belly. His legs were weak and he was still seated. Not this, not today. Not now, not after all of this. “You know what to do.” They declared a state of emergency and granted the division heads sentencing power, and got to work. Meanwhile, Estonia went to search for Russia.

–

It was not 8 am until he found him, and by that time, the city was slowly waking up, sleepy and indulgent and certainly not in a state of rebellion, or even in a state where they could be roused into one. There was no way this could ever have worked. What the hell was Russia thinking?

Well, Estonia would get the answers when he met him.

The military airfield at Lasnamäe, in the east of the city, was one of the last places he expected to find Russia - directing insurgents, some Estonian, most Russian. Not long after, other units of his own state-loyal soldiers arrived, and that seemed like an excellent time for him to spook the insurgents. They spotted him and began to shake.

Russia noticed their immediate distraction and whirled around, looking for the source. When he found it, he met Estonia, striding confidently and angrily across the airfield, wind in his hair and fire in his eyes. The insurgents remaining scattered, but Russia himself did not. Instead, he looked Estonia up and down, appraisingly, his cheeks reddening. Then he lifted a shoulder and gave a self-deprecating little smile that Estonia really wanted to smack off his big face.

“Not so successful, this one,” said Estonia, spitting his words, “was it?”

As they spoke, the insurgents managed to get away with two planes, though his own soldiers continued pursuit.

“It’s not over yet,” chirped Russia.

Estonia glared. “For you, it is,” he said.

By the time they returned to Estonia’s government buildings, the clocks in the churches had struck 10 am and the situation was mostly under control, though there remained scattered a body here and there and blood and brass shell casings in the snow. Though the streets were quiet - as quiet as they ever got for a city - small crowds had gathered.

It was at the government buildings, just outside Toompea Castle, that they had their altercation, as Estonia dragged him through fresh snow up to the pink parliament. “You know, you cannot really blame me for trying,” began Russia, pretending innocence.

Estonia threw his grip off, and Russia staggered backwards on the incline of Toompea Hill. “Yes! Yes, I can!” he exploded. “I am an independent country - you even acknowledged that - and I don’t need your intervention!”

“Ah, little self-important piece of parkland you are. What makes you think this is about you?” snapped Russia.

“Because it took place  _on my land!_ ” Estonia cried.

“But now my boss will be happy, this is three times Zinoviev has failed him, after all.”

“Don’t you understand? You can’t make an excuse of me for your internal politics anymore!” said Estonia.

“Well, it is not like you don’t get anything in return,” argued Russia. “You won fair and square - I am sure you like winning against me -”

“Please. You hardly put up a good enough fight, this isn’t you at your best resources,” Estonia found himself retorting. “It reeks of sad desperation.”

“Yes! Exactly so!” said Russia. “That is what it was. And now because you do not want to listen to them and never have, now you have an excuse for a real crackdown against your Bolsheviks.”

“I was handling that problem perfectly well on my own,” said Estonia.

“You always think you are,” said Russia, “but you never listen to my advice or take my help.”

“I never ask for it, because I do not need it,” said Estonia.

“Oh, don’t you, little one?” Russia reached out to tousle his hair. Estonia jerked away, bending back, and Russia’s hand touched only cold December air, but from his facial expression, Russia clearly remained undeterred. “Only means I have to get you in a corner, where you can’t move,” he decided. “That is easy enough for me to do.”

That was the last straw. Estonia yelled up at the government building, where an officer of the Security Police stood guard. “Is the railway station free yet?”

“Cleared it of rebels an hour ago,” the officer yelled back.

“What good news,” said Estonia dryly. “Save any trials until later. If anybody wants me, tell them I am personally escorting this one  _out of my fucking house_.”

“Ah! you make a fellow nation feel so special, dear Estonia. Are you going to put me in irons?” asked Russia. “Get physical?” He sounded almost intrigued.

Estonia grabbed him by the upper arm and began the long walk down, dragging him off to the central station.

–

Russia still would not stop talking even on the train, taunting him and teasing him. As they approached the closest border crossing, Estonia finally said, intending to shut him up, “Do you know, that every time I invite you over for long enough, you give yourself away?”

It worked. At last, there was blessed silence. But only for about ten minutes. “What was it that gave me away, exactly?” asked Russia. “I am curious.” He sounded almost quiet and innocent, a marked change from the way he had been recently, under his new boss - a thuggish bully. More like the man he was before, under his older boss. Maybe there was something of that left in him. It didn’t matter. Whether it was in him or not, Estonia wanted nothing to do with it.

“You have tells,” snapped Estonia. “When you’re lying. When you’re hiding something. When you’re not telling me the full truth. I saw something like this coming, and after what happened in Hamburg and Bulgaria, it was only a matter of time.”

“Hm,” said Russia. He fell silent another moment, and broke it only much later with, “What kind of tells?”

“You really think I’ll say?” Estonia snorted. “That’s information I need against you, and today is proof that I need as much information against you as I can get.” He should talk to Finland. Between the two of them, maybe they could keep each other apprised of all things Russia to be well-warned for the next time, because next time would happen, it was only a matter of  _when_.

“But it was just this one little uprising,” explained Russia. “A trifle. A game between neighbours.”

A trifle! A  _game!_  "I don’t think anything is ever just once with you,“ said Estonia. "How dumb do you think I am?”

“Oh, Estonia, I do not think you are dumb at all. You have always been so clever,” said Russia. “It is why I admire you, you know.”

“Hah,” said Estonia, and he sank back in his seat, smiling bitterly to himself, watching the countryside pass them by at high velocity as the train sped onward.

“I mean it,” said Russia, his tone serious. He leaned forward and added, in a sinister voice, “It’s why I have to  _have_  you.”

Estonia lifted his head, alarmed. “What?” he breathed.

The treaty - the treaty  _they both signed_  - relinquished rights to him in perpetuity. Russia can’t have him anymore!

In two steps Russia crossed the tiny cabin, grabbed him, hoisted him to his feet and held him fast, in a close embrace, his breath sour on Estonia’s cheeks. “You’ll be with me soon,” he said, an intimate promise delivered with the fervour of a fanatic. “You’ll all be with me soon, you’ll all see!”

He really believes what he’s saying, realised Estonia. He really won’t stop until he has all of Estonia again, will he?

Estonia lifted his head back and brought it forward in a sharp quick thrust, striking his forehead on that big fat nose of Russia’s, which Russia insisted on putting in other people’s business.

Russia let him go. “Oww!” he complained, his nose bleeding. So was Estonia’s, because the strike dug his glasses into his nose and the lens pads cut into his skin. He felt a drop well up and trail down, like a tear of blood. This he wiped off and flicked away in Russia’s direction, spotting his greatcoat.

“You’re going to get out, and you’ll  _stay out_ , of my country,” said Estonia, low and dangerous. “Do you understand me? I’m not going to be a part of you ever again!”

“What of your oppressed workers?” Russia asked, clutching his nose. “Your insurgency? What are you going to do, in the next few days, with your manhunt? Will you put them up against a wall in a shooting range? Will you smoke out everybody who is even a little sympathetic to socialism?”

That entirely depends. “Those that have your beliefs, now… If they can escape, I’m sure they’d be happiest living with you,” said Estonia, though he knew that if they believed strongly enough, if they were militant enough, he wouldn’t let them leave  _at all_. It was his problem to take care of. His problem to solve.

“I agree with you on that,” said Russia aimiably. He took a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his greatcoat and blew his nose in it, loudly and messily. After this, he still bled, though less profusely. “Look,” said Russia, “see? We are all red inside, yes?”

“You  _will_  treat them well, should they come to you,” Estonia said, factually. Certainly some were on their way there now, no doubt. “They’re still my people.” If anybody would execute them, it would be Estonia himself. That was only fair.

“Of course,” said Russia. “They are good communists, noble-hearted and loyal and true. I would treat them as my own!” Somehow, this failed to reassure Estonia.

And then Russia moved, quicker than before, and gathered him close. Before Estonia could react Russia had kissed him on the lips, was kissing him still, firmly and invasively. Not brotherly. Not like a  _comrade_. One arm had wormed its way behind the small of Estonia’s back, and there supported him, as Estonia tried to back up and found he could not. The taste of Russia’s blood forced onto his tongue. Out of shock more than anything Estonia let him, but when the lassitude of shock wore off, so did his passiveness once again, and he began to squirm against Russia’s warmth and solidness, pressing fruitlessly on his barrel chest, panting heavily, their proximity meaning that the smell of Russia’s breath truly invaded his senses - always an invasion. Russia moaned, misreading these actions - probably deliberately because of all the terrible things he was, stupid was not one of them - and clutched him tighter.

Eventually Russia must have decided that he had taken enough of what he wanted, and let him go. Estonia staggered back, fell back into his seat, and wiped his mouth.

Is this what he’s wanted from me all along? he thought, appalled and dazed.

“Have you read  _all_  my tells to discover that, kotyonok? Or have I some secrets remaining?” Russia whispered, hoarse and husky. “These … bourgeois, degenerate wants of mine.” He put his hand at his lips, rubbing them, and pulled a face. “I hate that I feel this way,” he bit out, in a moment of cynical confession. “For you.”

Estonia gave it a moment’s consideration, his thoughts panicked and fluttery but the logic nevertheless consistent. Yes, it was clear enough. There were tells in this too. In retrospect, it all made sense. But he hadn’t seen  _this_  coming.

“I only wish that you could have seen it my way,” Russia continued. “But maybe someday.” He smiled softly, more to himself than anything else. “Maybe someday you will.” Keep dreaming, thought Estonia. The train slowed to a halt. “Is this my stop?” he asked.

“It is. So get out of my house,” he said again, finding his voice once again, “and take your insurgents with you, all of them, and if I find you trying to start shit again in my country, trying to destabilise my politics -”

“Then you will find, maybe, that you don’t have an ability to do anything about it,” interrupted Russia. He turned sharply to leave, and the hem of his greatcoat flared out around his boots.

Estonia narrowed his eyes. “Is that a threat?”

Russia shook his head. “I did say  _maybe_ ,” he added over his shoulder, as he descended from the carriage.

Estonia kept watching until the train going further east pulled into the station and took Russia along with it. When it did, he made no acknowledgement of Russia’s playful wave goodbye, nor the sarcastic kiss he blew, and fully ignored the way his own lips tingled as he grimaced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> historical notes: I'm glossing over the events of 1917-1918 in terms of the political manoeuvrings that led to a declaration of independence and also 1918-1920 (Independence War) in this particular fic. Those who were in the Estonian branches of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party (aka, the Bolshevik faction thereof - so hereafter just 'the Bolsheviks') were v problematic in this era: initially they were not exactly disliked and had arguable support, because their goals at first glance were somewhat in line with the independence movement of the day: adopt Estonian as the official language, overthrow the ruling class (Baltic German). But the Bolsheviks wanted furthermore collectivisation of the land and administration of Estonia by newly-Soviet Russia, which is 0% in line with independence. For this reason in 1918 they were disbanded and made illegal, but they continued to operate underground and used umbrella organisations to play dirty with agitation and literature dissemination as well as stage quasi-uprisings like taking over the 1919 trade union congress. Keep in mind they're not just ordinary disgruntled-worker-leftists; they have specific anti-state and anti-Estonian views. Their particular brand of communism comes most directly from Lenin who advocates a glorious world revolution for communism and is anti-nationalism. This alone pits them against the state and could guarantee members of the party a treason charge (depending on the charge, punishable by prison, forced labour, or execution); that there is additional heavy Russian affiliation is only fuel for the fire.  
> [The treaty they're signing in 1920](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Treaty_of_Tartu_\(Russian%E2%80%93Estonian\)).  
> Communist International, aka [Comintern](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Communist_International), financed many coups and uprisings in the 20s. While Comintern sought world communism (so, this glorious revolution of Lenin's), no communist party affiliated with Comintern was to be more loyal to their home party/home state than to Moscow: Comintern directly sought not just any socialist/far left party, but those that were willing to accept Moscow demands and her direct oversight to the exclusion of others - i.e., foreign interference. This became a pattern in the 20's of funded communist subversion in other states like Germany and Bulgaria.  
> [Zinoviev probably didn't even write this letter](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zinoviev_letter).  
> The EKP (Estonian Communist Party) as it becomes in the 40's kind of has its roots in the EKP/Bolsheviks which while illegal operated underground in Estonia in the 1917-1924 era, but the one of the 40s was Under New Management (all those that fled Estonia in the early 20s after the party crackdowns as described above were later [purged by Stalin in the 30's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Purge)). This is why V. Kingissepp ([see in Estonian here](https://et.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viktor_Kingissepp), English and German wiki versions lack info) was lauded; he was killed in 1922 before purges, so he made a good martyr/Soviet hero without need for rehabilitation. Two cities bore his name: Kingisepp, Russia, just east of Narva, Estonia (eastern-most city); and what is now Kuressaare, one of the western-most towns in Estonia (certainly the largest on Saaremaa). Dark humour joke: in Soviet times, Estonia stretched from Kingisepp to Kingisepp. [Linkhorst](https://et.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johannes_Linkhorst) gave him up; when USSR occupies Estonia in 1940, he is caught and executed.  
> This is the [trial of the 149](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trial_of_the_149) in 1924, shortly before the [1 Dec coup attempt](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1924_Estonian_coup_d%27%C3%A9tat_attempt)  
> [Russian Civil War](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russian_Civil_War) lasted 1917-1923, and in 1921-22 they had [a giant famine](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russian_famine_of_1921%E2%80%9322). Russia carrying a bag of things is a reference to [bag people](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bag_people). See also the [New Economic Policy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Economic_Policy) if interested.  
> [Lenin vs Stalin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vladimir_Lenin#Declining_health_and_arguments_with_Stalin:_1920.E2.80.931923): by 1923, ailing Lenin was really starting to hate Stalin, but Lenin had also suffered a stroke and mild paralysis and wasn't doing too well. That Russia's personality changes so drastically under Lenin vs under Stalin is also not a coincidence; Lenin times were scary but Stalin times were arguably worse and a lot scarier.


	6. The ballroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 6 (I never did finish day 7): historical prompt, "Oeselians".

Perhaps an hour to midnight. He waits, quietly, disguised, only the whites of his eyes visible and then only if you look closely into the low light of the feeble flames, Past them, to the sides of the courtroom where the wallflowers like him remain.

Today he has dressed up. It’s a special occasion. An event such as this calls for it. He wears his good shirt, his fine trousers, tied in the front with a glint of metal, the pinhead keeping them closed embedded with a tiny stone. Stars upon his chest, his good sword at his hip, adding a princely quality to his character. His dancing shoes, laced mid-shin.

Cloaked in green. He has spruced up fine, you might say.

Who will he ask to dance?

Both the Viking from the north-west, across the brackish sea, and the eastern Varangian with whom he trades (this one he knows, her name is Kievan Rus’) are here tonight. Tonight they are on the dance floor already, their steps practiced on the white tile. They discuss something, but they are too far for him to hear, or they speak a tongue only they can understand. She looks beautiful by his side, her fine linen shift belted about her wide hips and her careful embroidery bled into her tunic sleeves. A beautiful couple, moving to the beat of the drums beneath the stars.

She has eyes drawn thin to slits - she doesn’t trust him, evidently. But he doesn’t appear to mind. It must be mutual.

Neither of them are to be trusted. They have come once to him each before and on each day there was distrust but mutual agreement. He has met with the Varangian to trade. He has met with the Viking to trade. But the Viking and Varangian meet here upon his land. Without him. This is suspect.

Ordinarily only the top members of the Viking’s expedition - the Leidang - have helms of iron or leather, with the bar for the nose. Today they are all armed. Everyone, including those who he recognises as lesser, not so well-off, has a blade. Everyone has a shield.

The Druzhýna on the other hand of the Varangian Guard is less armed. Their swords are more ceremonial, but the way they move suggests that there are daggers beneath the folds of their clothing. Even the Varangian who marches with the Viking does so in a strange, practiced way. Blades at her ankles, he suspects.

He hears interesting things about her. She has a new religion now, the one-god religion. The Viking doesn’t think much of it, though some of his retinue clearly do. They are not talking about religion, judging from his body language. This is suspect. If she is not here to preach, then what is she here for? She must need that Viking’s help for something. And for what?

Isn’t it courtly to chat a bit when you dance with your partner? Yet they don’t seem to talk openly, only out of the sides of their mouths, hushed and furtive.

They have brought horses. This is suspect. Each has to travel by boat with him, and horses do not travel well by boat. They perhaps have docked their vessels further inland and have traded or bought horses. Or the vessels they brought had large horses. Or they have stolen them from some of his people. It could be any of those options. Looking at the horses, Eesti is hungry. Eesti will eat pretty much anything.

It’s possible they don’t discuss anything untowards upon him. But is it? Besides, it’s kill or be killed, and there was two of them for every one of him. So he is glad the messengers got to the mainland quickly enough so that they could bring more of them. A dance is always more fun with more dancers. While these two were occupied with each other, his retinue sailed around south-west, obscured by the dark, gliding silent on the waters, death from behind.

A little longer, he’ll wait on the sides of the walls, until the great moon just peeks above the horizon. Then they will see him and his armies, hidden in shadows, lurking hidden beneath the branches of the trees, and they can paint the dance floor in two peoples’ blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> historical notes: Inspired by the hypothesis that [Freygeirr’s death](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freygeirr) took place during a joint Swedish-Kievan Rus’ expedition against the Oeselians. The problem with historical prose in this era is that it’s really fraught with half-truths and embellishments, and that we have little idea what actually may have happened based on Sagas alone. For the most part, the same goes for runestones, as you can tell, because all of Freygeirr’s runestones mention different places that he fell and different people who erected them!


End file.
